Your Time
by BohemianMagic
Summary: Judas/Jesus slash, inspired by JCS 2000. Judas leaves home to try and find meaning in his life. He meets Jesus and is driven to his destiny.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Your Time

**Pairing: **Eventual Jesus/Judas

**Rating: **M (Because not everyone like bible!slash)

**Warning**: This story contains mature content and eventual slash (homosexual relationships) between biblical figures. If you know this will offend you, please exit the ride now! I appreciate that not everyone is comfortable with this, which is why I'm warning you all now. Telling me I'm sick and that I will go to hell will not stop me; I've had that ticket booked since I was thirteen. (Anyway, if hell is where Freddie Mercury and Jerome Pradon are, Jerome wearing a black and red PVC outfit, you can keep heaven!) If you flame, I will laugh! I will not stop writing, but no one's making you read it! This story is based more on Jesus Christ Superstar (2000), rather than the actual bible, so that accounts for factual errors and trying not to be overly offensive.

**Spoilers: **…For the Bible?

**Summary: **Judas/Jesus slash, inspired by JCS 2000. Judas leaves home to try and find meaning in his life. He meets Jesus and is driven to his destiny.

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Disclaimer:

Er…I'm not God?

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Judas sat in front of the fire in his family home chucking bits of waste paper into the flames. The back of his neck itched as he felt his father's eyes bore into him and Judas longed to get away from the suspicious, accusing gaze.

Judas was fast leaving boyhood and becoming a man, yet he had still remained in his father's house to care for his elderly mother. His mother had suffered from a complication during her pregnancy which had made her weak and sickly. Caring for her helped to abate some of the guilt that Judas felt when he looked at her. She had sacrificed her health to give him life and he vowed that he would repay her by becoming a strong, good son that she could be proud of.

Judas' father had always resented him, right from birth. He was a drunk, violent man. Judas had learnt, early on, how to block out the physical pain when his father beat him. He never quite got a handle on the mental, though.

Judas didn't mind so much when he was beaten because, deep down, he hoped that if his father hit him hard enough, somehow, he'd be forgiven.

That had all changed though, when one day while he was still in teens, Judas discovered his father sneaking out of the house to meet a prostitute. Squandering away the money his mother needed for her medicine.

Judas had waited until his mother had gone to bed, before stealing out of the house.

He found his father in an alley, outside the brothel. Making a mockery of his mother, the man's _wife_, with this, this… whore!

Judas didn't bother waiting until the monster had finished up. He moved behind his father and spat in his ear, "How could you?"

Judas' father snapped his head up. "What the fuck, do you think you're doing, boy?" he shouted.

Judas turned to the girl, "Go, now!" he seethed.

The girl saw sense and hastily got up, running back down the alley and never looking back.

Judas turned back to his serpent of a father, eyes blazing in anger, "What do you think _you're _doing? My mother, your_ wife_, is sick. She needs medicine and all you can think about is…" The words were sticking to his throat, he was so angry.

Judas' father sneered, "What, Judas? You can't even say it, can you? Your mother's not that sick. Half the time she fakes it, she like having us all fawn over her. Well this is _my_ medicine, for putting up with you both. I wouldn't expect you to understand." His father laughed, "I mean, when was the last time you were seen going with a girl? You should be married now, you're old enough. You're just pathetic, clutching onto your mother's apron strings. You're weak, should have been drowned at birth!"

Judas raged, "Don't you talk about her, you don't have a right!"

His father exhaled incredulously, "A right? She's my wife and I'll use her as I see fit. YOU ARE MY SON!" he roared.

"And you're my father, why don't you act like it?" Judas raised his fist.

His father's eyes gleamed, "Go on then! You wouldn't hit your own father, you don't have the guts!"

Judas pinned his father into the wall behind him. "I should leave you here now, we'd be better off without you!"

Judas father struggled against him, "You can't do it, can you? You're an embarrassment, but prove me wrong. Do it! Show me I don't have a mummy's boy, faggot for a son!"

Judas smiled because he knew the day had come. He was stronger and more powerful than his father now. He would rid them both of this monster forever. He would do what was right for both of them. And she'd have a son she could be proud of.

Judas raised his hand and prepared to bring it crashing into his father's skull. A hand caught his and held it still. Judas spun round to be greeted with the sight of his mother standing in the alley with them.

All his anger dissipated as he gasped, "Mother? How did you come here? You should be resting, you'll make your sickness worse." he pleaded.

Judas' mother smiled and reached out towards her son.

"Judas," she held his face. "I will always be proud of you, my boy." She looked at her husband still pressed against the wall, then back to her son with tears in her eyes. "But this is not what is meant for you, my love."

Then Judas knew.

"No. Mother please, you can't- Don't leave me."

He scrubbed at his face, trying to stop the unbidden tears from falling.

Judas' mother kissed her son once on each cheek. "It's my time now. Your's is just beginning. You need to stop taking care of others and find a life of your own, Judas."

Judas had given up on the tears which now ran freely down his face.

"I love you." he whispered.

"I love you too."

Then she was gone.

Judas stared after her, quite forgetting about his father who had slumped to the floor of the alleyway. Then Judas broke into a run.

He ran up to his house and burst through the door. He stopped. His mother was lying in the bed where he'd left her. She had died in her sleep.

Judas stepped silently over to the bedside. He arranged the blankets over her more comfortably and fanned her hair out over the pillow. He bent down and kissed her cheek before straightening up and walking silently out of the house.

Judas closed the door behind himself and walked away from the village.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning**: This story contains mature content and eventual slash (homosexual relationships) between biblical figures. If you know this will offend you, please exit the ride now! I appreciate that not everyone is comfortable with this, which is why I'm warning you all now. Telling me I'm sick and that I will go to hell will not stop me; I've had that ticket booked since I was thirteen. (Anyway, if hell is where Freddie Mercury and Jerome Pradon are, Jerome wearing a black and red PVC outfit, you can keep heaven!) If you flame, I will laugh! I will not stop writing, but no one's making you read it! This story is based more on Jesus Christ Superstar (2000), rather than the actual bible, so that accounts for factual errors and trying not to be overly offensive.

**Disclaimer:** Er…I'm not God?

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**Chapter 2**

I had been walking for days. I suppose, initially I had a vague idea of reaching Judea. I realised only after I had set off, that the city was miles away from the town of Kerioth where I'd left.

I walked quickly. It had been hours since I'd seen another soul walking past; and there were always robbers and bandits around these roads. Not that I'd got anything much worth having anyway. All the same, I'd rather keep my throat intact.

I hurried on for at least another mile. I saw a building looming out of the fog on the horizon; I assumed that this must be the city. I must have walked further than I'd thought I had.

Seeing the building spurred me on, and I began to pick up my pace slightly. I was so thirsty and desperately in need of a rest. I hadn't dared to stop on my journey because that would have left me open to attack from any rogue dog that wandered by.

As I got nearer, I realised that the building was deserted. It looked abandoned and empty. I let out a small laugh but continued to drag my way up the stairs anyway.

I collapsed at the topmost step, my eyes pricking with the burn that usually pre-empts tears but I refused to cry. Instead I dragged myself over a dark corner and lay down. The stone was cool against my hot skin; the floor itself didn't look too dirty but my mind was too tired to dwell on it.

I awoke suddenly to the gentle rustling of a blanket being laid over me. Instinctively I reached for the knife that always carried and pointed it blindly outwards. The figure retreated backwards into the shadowy light coming from a hole in the roof. Wide, fearful eyes glanced back into my own, somehow managing to imprison me in their gaze. I felt my grip on the knife loosen and falter but I managed to keep my arm steady. I realised that I looking at a young boy; certainly he seemed younger, though something told me that we were probably the same age. The light beaming down from the ceiling cast an ethereal glow around him which caught in his hair and made it shine in the dark of what I know understood to be a derelict temple. He had a slight, almost feminine form with golden hair, which had started to curl at the ends with the length of it. In fact, one might almost have mistaken him for a girl by his small build or the soft curve of his mouth; if it were not for the contrasting angle of the square jaw, or the faint trace of a steely hardness in his eyes which seemed to flicker away as soon as it appeared. It was a look I knew because I shared it. Any Jew who had the misfortune to live on the streets of a Roman dictatorship knew that look. It was the look of defiance in the face of despair. That didn't mean I had to care though.

"Get out of here! I haven't got anything worth stealing." I spoke, perhaps a little too viciously then I had meant.

The boy's eyes widened and he smiled in what I suppose he thought a sympathetic way, to me it seemed disconcerting. "I was just making sure you were comfortable down there. I didn't mean any harm, all are welcome in my father's house," he beamed.

I eyes him suspiciously, "You're not a rabbi, you're too young," I spoke derisively.

"Not a rabbi," he agreed. "My name's Jesus."

There was a pause, and then he looked at me again, "What's yours?"

"Judas," I muttered, "Judas Iscariot."

"That's a nice name," he replied.

I continued to eye him incredulously, was this boy for real? I struggled to comprehend how he had survived so long with that sense of naivety and easy trusting nature. Coupled with his soft looks, he should have been snatched by some pimp a long time ago. I couldn't make out anyone else in the shadows of the temple, we were completely alone. But Jesus seemed to feel that 'his father's house' was security enough, even if a potential enemy could be standing right in front of him. Then it dawned on me, he was insane.

I continued to watch as Jesus moved over to the end of the temple and began to daub paint on the back wall.

"Should you be doing that?" I asked hesitantly. Jesus didn't reply. He turned back to the wall and carried on carefully etching out something. I moved closer and realised he was writing his name.

I glanced at the other walls of the temple to find that they had each received similar treatment; graffitied messages were scrawled all over them with the odd drawing dotted about. On closer inspection of the walls, I noticed that there were other names there as well. I touched one.

"That's my cousin." Jesus had turned around to look at me.

"Does he come here too?" I asked.

"No," was all he said; then he turned back to his mural and continued painting, though I noticed that his brush strokes were a little harder than before. I dropped my gaze to the floor.

After a pause, I enquired, "Where's the rest of your family?"

Jesus turned and regarded me closely, "Where's the rest of yours?" he asked.

I briefly thought back to the man who called himself my father back in Kerioth. "There's no one."

Jesus kept looking me over intensely and it was starting to make me feel uncomfortable. I ducked my head down again and moved away from his gaze.

Suddenly, a crashing sound was heard from outside. I turned to Jesus, "What was that?"

He looked at me worriedly, "I don't know."

I withdrew my dagger again. "Is there a back way out?" I asked him, already edging towards the door.

"There's a gap in the roof, can you climb?" He asked me.

"Not for me, for you." I replied. Jesus seemed to realise what I was about to do.

"Judas, don't!" he urged me.

"Be quiet!" I hissed back at him.

I stood level with the door for what seemed like hours, listening out for any more noises. Jesus' eyes looked wild and panicked and I was reminded again of just how small he was. I wanted to go to him, but I had to be sure that no one was trying to break their way in.

"I can't hear anything." Jesus whispered after a while.

"I told you to be quiet!" I whispered back. "Why are you still here, anyway?"

"'m not leaving you on your own." Stupid brave idiot.

I stood, rooted to the spot for another fifteen minutes. I saw Jesus begin to sway with tiredness so I gently edged away from the door.

"I think it was just a dog. It's gone now anyway." I moved to pick the discarded blanket up from the floor. "You need to sleep; I'll stay here tonight if you want, in case it comes back."

Jesus nodded seriously and I wasn't sure that I had him completely convinced that our assailant had vanished.

"Besides," he said "You can't go yet, because you haven't told me how to spell your last name."

I frowned in confusion. Looking up at the wall I realised that Jesus had been half way through adding my name to his mural when we were interrupted. 'Judas Is' had now joined the other names lining the temple. I smiled a little at the gesture and saw Jesus looking at me expectantly with a playful grin on his lips. I took the brush from his outstretched hand and finished the writing so it now read, 'Judas Iscariot'. Then as an afterthought I began to slowly add in the name of my mother underneath. I knew Jesus was watching what I was doing, but he didn't ask after the name or say anything.

When I had finished, I turned around to see Jesus making himself up two beds on the floor. He settled down in one and curled up. I moved closer to him, "I'll keep an eye out." I said to him, but I think he was already asleep. I laughed, this boy was unbelievable and yet I endearing at the same time, and I found that I had begun to feel responsible for him in a way. He needed some one to look after him because god only knows how he had managed to survive this long on his own.


End file.
